“Petty jealousy, and he is trying to revenge himself on Mercer,” thought the little colonel. “I guess I can pretty well tell which one of those young men is lying!”
On the following morning, when the Orders of the Day were read, Jim and his friends were delighted to hear in the crisp voice of the battalion orderly that the charges brought against Captain Mercer by Sentry Rowen were to be temporarily dismissed, with the exception of the charge of leaving camp unofficially, for which Captain Mercer was to receive twenty-five demerits.
A hundred demerits were sufficient to send a man home from the encampment and two hundred at school would dismiss any cadet permanently.
That afternoon there was a partial holiday and the cadets set out to enjoy themselves. It was a mild and warm afternoon, with a fleecy sky overhead, through which the sun peeped at intervals. Don and Jim sat in the tent, trying to decide just what to do.
“What do you say to a hike over the Ridge, a sort of exploring trip?” was Don’s suggestion.
“Sounds good,” approved Jim. “Who can we get to go along with us?”
“We’ll scout around and find out,” announced Don, getting up from his cot.
After looking up their most intimate friends they found that only Terry and Raoul Vench cared to go tramping.
“We’ll be glad to go along,” yawned the redhead. He and Raoul had been idly watching the swimmers when Jim and Don found them. “I’m weary o’ doing nothing!”
“Too lazy to do anything but watch the other fellows swim around and enjoy themselves, is that it?” inquired Jim.
“Yes, but you see, I enjoy it that way,” returned Terry, seriously. “I have a vivid imagination and in time, by concentrating on the swimmers, I too feel the cool of the water and the exhilaration of the exercise. Just requires a little imaginative concentration, Jimmie my friend.”
“You’re a wonderful fellow,” glowed Jim. “Just you imagine me a couple of ice-cream sodas, will you?”
“Pay me first!” grinned Terry. “Money back if I fail to come across.”
The four cadets set out at a brisk pace up the slope of the Ridge. It was heavily wooded and every now and then they came across a clearing in which a farmhouse could be seen. They were not long in reaching the very top of the series of hills called Rustling Ridge and they paused to look down into the opposite valley from the one above which their camp was pitched.
“Nice picture,” observed Terry. “Why do they call this place Rustling Ridge?”
“In the fall, when the wind blows hard, the leaves rustle, and from that fact comes the name,” Don volunteered.
“How’d you learn that?” Vench wanted to know.
“I asked a farm boy who was watching us play baseball the other day,” replied the infantry lieutenant.
“Look at that old house up there,” called out Jim, pointing to a huge square structure that showed a battered roof with leaning chimneys over the tops of the trees. “Looks like a fitting habitation for the ghost of this place.”
“Just about,” agreed Vench. “But that little cabin down below looks better to me, because I bet we can get a good drink at the place. Let’s go down.”
The others agreed and they tramped down the side of the slope toward a plain little cabin, constructed of unpainted boards, with a roofed front porch on it. At some distance below them they could see the largest town in the county.
“What town is that?” asked Jim.
“I think that must be Rideway,” replied Don.
Reaching the cabin they rounded the corner, to halt suddenly as they saw a figure there. It was a little old man in a wheelchair, a man with sparse gray hair, sallow cheeks, and a few good teeth remaining. His eyes were keen and penetrating and he was puffing in evident enjoyment on a huge pipe.
He greeted them readily enough. “Hi, there, boys, step right up,” he shrilled, in a rasping voice. “Soldiers, eh? You look pretty young. Where you stationed?”
“We aren’t soldiers of the United States Army,” Don told him. “We are cadets from Woodcrest Military Institute, and we’re camping over on the other side of the Ridge. We were passing by and thought we’d drop in for a drink of water.”
“Thought you were too young-looking for regular soldiers,” nodded the old man, taking in every detail of their uniforms. “Want a drink of good water, eh?”
“Yes,” Don replied. “But we wouldn’t want to trouble you any.”
“Oh, hush up!” was the good-natured reply. “I know that you’re thinking I’m out of commission and I can’t help you. Just sit down on the porch here and see how old Peter Vancouver does it.”
With that the old man gave the right wheel of his chair a whirl and to the astonishment of the boys shot himself around in a half circle and in through the open door. From there they saw him roll across the room and vanish through the door of another room.
“My gosh!” breathed Terry. “Can’t he work that buggy of his!”
“Probably years of practice has made him proficient,” said Don, softly.
With the same bewildering speed and dexterity the man returned in his chair, holding a pitcher and a tin cup in his hand. Even while in motion he poured the water out.
He seemed to enjoy watching the boys drink deeply, and when they had finished he wheeled back to the kitchen and returned at lightning speed. Noting the interested looks of the boys he chuckled.
“Guess the old man knows how to walk well’s if he had feet, eh?”
“You walk better than a whole lot of people who have feet,” gravely affirmed Vench.
“If you was spending your life in one of these all-fired things you’d know how to ride one, too,” he told them. “Don’t you fellows go. I don’t see a heap of folks and I like to chin once in a while.”
“We’ll be glad to stay and talk with you, Mr. Vancouver,” smiled Jim, leaning back against a post. “We are just out exploring and we’d just as soon sit here and talk as wander around.”
“Glad to hear you say it,” approved the old man. “Let’s hear something about that there camp of yourn.”
The boys told him several things about the camp, all of which seemed to interest him deeply. In the course of the talk the incident of the ghost and the stampede was mentioned. The old man bent eagerly forward.
“Did you get a visit from the ghost?” he cried.
“Yes, he stampeded our horses,” Jim told him. “What do you know about him, Mr. Vancouver?”
The man chuckled. “All a poor old invalid would know about such like he hears,” the man replied. “I ain’t never seen the thing, but I heard plenty. Raises old Ned in the hills here, and has been at it for years.”
“If we get a chance we are going to nail him good,” Don promised.
“Good idea,” Mr. Vancouver approved. “Blasted business has been driving people off the Ridge for years. Wouldn’t be surprised if the fellow drove you cadets home.”
“Drive us out of camp!” ejaculated Vench, stirring.
“He might!” the old man said.
“He’ll have to go some to do that,” snorted Terry. “He’ll be lucky if we don’t steal his best nightgown right off him!”
“Getting late, fellows,” warned Don. “We had better be getting back. Thanks a lot for your good drink of water, Mr. Vancouver, and we’ve enjoyed being with you.”
“Enjoyed being able to talk to you boys,” he returned heartily. “Come up again some time.”
“We’ll be glad to,” promised the boys, as they started off. Mr. Vancouver called a final word after them.
“You had better keep your eyes open for that cussed ghost! No tellin’ when he’ll pop up and scare the life out of you!”
The cadets laughed good-naturedly and walked at a rapid pace up the side of the Ridge. The sun was going down in the west and they would have to keep up a good stride in order to arrive in time for supper.
“Interesting old fellow, that Vancouver,” Jim observed.
“He surely is,” Vench agreed. “We’ll have to chat with him some other time.”
“Too bad he can’t move around—that is, walk around,” Don said. “As a matter of fact, he does move around mighty fast, but I mean it is a shame he can’t go walking around, same as you and me.”
“Like everybody else around here, he believes that dog-goned ghost is the last word in efficiency,” growled Terry. “I guess the real trouble is that nobody dares to put on a real hunt for the ghost. Fellows, we’ll have to make it our business to run down that ghost!”
“If it pops up again soon, we will,” Don promised.
For a week or more there were no unusual events. Camping life went on calmly, the drill and fun occupying the days in regular succession. By this time all of the boys were enjoying themselves to the utmost. Muscles were limber and strong, bodies straight and vigorous, and the appetites outrageous.
“We certainly are keeping the cooks hustling,” Terry chuckled one day in the mess tent. “I’m going for another helping of beans.”
But when the genial redhead went to the kitchen tent he was firmly but politely refused “Nothing doing, Mr. Mackson,” said the mess sergeant, firmly. “You’ve already had three plates full and that is the allotment.”
“No more beans for a starving man?” Terry inquired, in dismay.
“No more for you anyway. I don’t know why you should be starving, I’m sure.”
“All right,” returned the red-headed one, calmly. “My mother will get even with you!”
“What do you mean, your mother will?” cried the cook, staring.
“When my body is shipped home, and she learns that her darling boy starved to death in the camp, she will spend the rest of her life calling down vengeance upon the head of the hard-headed and hard-hearted cook that turned him away with tears in his eyes!” was the answer. The mess tent shook with the laugh that went up. But the cook was prepared to answer him back.
“You’re right about the cook turning him away with tears in his eyes,” the cook said. “It brings tears to my eyes to see the hole in the bean pile when you get eating!”
Terry retired thoughtfully, paying no heed to the mocking gibes which greeted him on all sides. After a moment he looked at Vench, who was eating across the table from him. Vench had just pushed his plate to one side.
“How many plates of beans did you have, Raoul?” Terry whispered.
“Two was enough for me,” returned the little one.
“My son, heaven’s blessings upon you! Just take my plate and hit the trail for the cook!”
Mr. Vench took Terry’s plate and gravely approached the cook. But as soon as that worthy saw the particular dent in the tin plate he shook his head wisely.
“Nothing doing, Mr. Vench,” he said. “That is Mackson’s plate. You don’t work that game here!”
“Thank you, sir!” Vench murmured, while the cadets enjoyed the failure of the move to the utmost. With that Vench turned away. But at that moment the cook was called to the far end of the mess tent. With swiftness that was commendable Vench reached over the stove and heaped the plate. Then he sped back to the delighted Terry.
“Ram that in your musket and keep still!” he said, as he took his place.
Terry needed no second invitation. He dug into the pile of beans with alacrity. And in a moment the sharp voice of the cook reached him.
“Mr. Mackson, where did you get those beans?”
Terry looked blank. “I am not at all sure, sir,” he answered, politely. “I had just turned my back, and when I looked around there they were, right under my nose!”
“Did you come and take them while I was not looking?” cried the cook.
“Haven’t been out of my seat since you broke my heart with your refusal,” was the answer. “And you didn’t give any to Mr. Vench, so it is up to you to figure out how I got the beans!”
“Bring them here, Mr. Mackson!” ordered the mess sergeant.
Terry shoveled the last forkful into his mouth. “Beg pardon?” he asked blandly.
“I’ll put you on report!” growled the sergeant.
“My dear fellow, you can’t,” smiled Terry. “I didn’t take them myself and so you have no charge to prefer. And if you did I’d pound all the beans out of you once I got you away from the mess tent!”
“That amounts to threatening an officer while on duty, Mr. Mackson!” charged the sergeant.
“That’s not a threat, that’s a promise,” grinned the redhead. The sergeant muttered savagely but subsided.
“Much obliged,” Terry whispered to Vench. “Some day I’ll help you out.”
“But not in the matter of beans,” smiled Vench. “They just don’t happen to be my weakness!”
One of the steady visitors to the camp was the little Carson boy. He was the son of the farmer from whom the camp supplies were purchased, and the cadets had taken a great liking to him. He was a friendly, likable boy and obviously deeply interested in the activities of the young soldiers. He watched all of their maneuvers with fascinated interest and the cadets welcomed him in their tents.
“That youngster has the makings of a good cadet in him,” Don said. “Too bad he isn’t one of us. How would you like to be a cadet, Jimmie?”
The boy flushed with pleasure and looked around the tent. “I’d like it more than anything else in the world,” he told them. “I’ll tell you a secret. Want to hear it?”
“Well, if it isn’t too deep for us, we would,” Jim assured him.
“I’m saving my money to go to Woodcrest,” the little fellow confided. “Guess how much I have saved already?”
“I can’t imagine, but I hope it is a lot,” replied Don.
“It is!” was the eager retort. “I have a dollar and fifty-seven cents toward it!”
“That’s great!” said Terry promptly. “You’ll need a little more than that, but it is a good beginning, anyway. Just you keep on going.”
“I’ll surely be glad when I get a uniform like you have,” the boy went on, wistfully. “I think they’re swell.”
There were other boys who drifted to the camp but they did not attract the attention of the cadets as much as the Carson boy did. They came to look around and fool a bit and in time most of them were chased away. But Jimmie Carson was never in the way and so he was allowed to come often to camp.
One afternoon a group of cadets went for another hike over the Ridge and on the way back they passed the Carson farm. Jimmie called to them to come in and they did so. To their delight Mrs. Carson, a plain, kindly woman of middle age, insisted that they try a huge apple pie that she had made.
“Don’t give any to Terry, Mrs. Carson,” begged Jim, as they sat on the back porch. Don, Jim, Terry, Douglas and Vench were there at the time.
“Why is that? Doesn’t he feel well?” the farmer’s wife inquired, anxiously.
“He has had stomach trouble for a long time,” returned Jim, gravely. “The doctor said that of all things in the world, he mustn’t eat apple pie!”
“I’ll tell you what it is, Mrs. Carson,” spoke up the persecuted one, before anything else could be said. “I have a falling stomach and I can’t seem to locate the bottom at any time. But I’m sure that if I can only have a slice of that apple pie I’ll surely plug up the floor of my stomach and have no more trouble!”
“Of all the left-handed compliments in the world!” gasped Douglas. “He must think your pie is some kind of cement with which to secure his stomach. Tell a lady that her pie will plug him up!”
Mrs. Carson laughed heartily. “I guess there is nothing the matter with any of you boys,” she said. “Try my pie and see if it is like cement!”
“I could die of embarrassment!” murmured Terry, as he bit into his piece of pie. “But this pie will surely revive me.”
The farmer himself came up and talked to the boys for a time. The unexpected arrival of the soldiers on the Ridge and the subsequent contract to supply them with fresh food had done wonders for the poor farmer and his family. A good many dollars were coming his way from the camp down the slope.
“Here is the baby of the family,” smiled Mrs. Carson, appearing a little later with a pretty little girl of six. The cadets promptly forgot all else in their efforts to amuse and entertain Dorothy Carson. It was late before they headed back to camp, after thanking the farmer’s wife for the good time they had had.
“I’ve had pie before,” murmured Terry. “But never such pie as that!”
“Is that so?” inquired Jim. “Well, it is a cinch that Don and I can’t believe anything you say hereafter!”
“Why not?”
“Because one time at our house you said the same thing about my mother’s pie,” said Jim.
“But don’t forget, this pie helped his stomach!” said Vench, slyly. “Probably your mother’s pie didn’t plug up the bottom of his stomach!”
“If I ever speak again, it will be to myself, and in a dark room,” sighed Terry.
They had not been back in the tent long before the Officer of the Guard appeared at the tent with a list in his hand. “Lieutenant Mercer, you will report for guard duty at Post Number Three at twelve o’clock,” he informed Don.
“Very good, sir,” Don saluted.
At midnight Lieutenant Don reported to the sentry at the far end of the camp, at a point near the farm belonging to the Hyde family. After an exchange of instructions he took the post, waiting for the call. It came soon after.
“Sentry, Post Two,” someone said near to him. Don faced toward the sentry who was next to him. “Sentry, Post Three,” he called. Number Four passed the report call on until eight sentries had reported. Then they began their pacing up and down on their patrols.
Don’s stretch was a long one, extending from the edge of the camp at the company street to a point back of the horse corral. At no time did he meet the sentry who patrolled Post Four. Just at the time Don reached the place where Post Four joined his post the other sentry was at the far end of his stretch, and when Don had returned to the company street Number Four was at the beginning of his post patrol. In this way there was no likelihood of sentries stopping to chat and no huge gaps left in the line of patrol duty.
The moon was a mere slice but the stars were bright pinheads in the sky. The air was warm and heavy with the smell of the woods. Don enjoyed his patrol thoroughly. At twelve-thirty he looked up the Ridge casually. Toward the top he saw a tiny jet of flame, right above the Hyde place.
“Looks like somebody striking a match,” he reflected, pacing slowly.
Then he stopped quickly. The jet of flame sprang up rapidly. Something was burning, flaring up into a huge ball of roaring fire. And as Don looked, completely at a loss, this mass of flame moved with ever increasing speed down the hill toward the Hyde house!
Don stood spellbound while the huge ball of fire rolled down on the Hyde place. There was a crash that he could hear plainly even at his distance and the burning ball hit the barn. In a twinkling of an eye the wooden structure caught fire.
Then Don came to life. Raising his rifle he fired three swift shots, waking the camp instantly.
The Officer of the Guard rushed up to him. “What is the trouble, Lieutenant?” the cadet panted. But a red glow in the sky told him the story at once.
“Report a large fire at that farmhouse,” said Don. The Officer of the Guard dug for the colonel.
By this time the cadet camp was well lighted by the glare from Hyde’s barn. The colonel saw that hard work was needed and he directed the bugler to sound assembly. This was done, and the half-dressed cadets fell in formation.
“Secure all pails and double-quick it to the farmhouse!” was the order. The colonel knew that in this rural area there was no organized fire department and whatever attempts were made to extinguish a fire always came from helpful neighbors. Instantly, the ranks broke and the commissary department was fairly turned upside down as the soldiers rummaged for pails. When these had been secured they raced down the company street and took the road to Hyde’s house.
Fortunately for them—and for the Hydes—the distance was short. When the first cadets arrived in the front yard the barn was a roaring furnace. Hyde and his two sons were running around the yard in an aimless fashion and as Jim and Terry arrived the three of them dashed into the blazing barn. A moment later they came out, each of them hanging onto squealing, thrashing horses.
“The horses!” cried Jim, and at the word the cavalrymen and the artillerymen formed a body around him. In a mass they rushed the door of the barn. Fighting their way inside past the Hydes, who were coming out, the cadets paused to look about the stable, gasping as the heavy smoke crowded down their lungs.
The inside of the barn was curiously lighted. A pall of heavy smoke hung in the structure, and through this curtain the dull red flames shone and licked. Snapping and crackling sounds reached their ears as the wood burned, and a terrible shrieking, from the terrified horses, went right through them. Blind with fear the animals kicked and screamed.
No word was spoken as the cadets made a rush for the nearest horses. Jim had not put on a shirt, but some of the others had and these they now whipped off, throwing them over the heads of the rearing animals. Jim scooped a blanket up from the rack as he passed and made a cast for the head of a big dray horse in a stall.
But now his troubles began. The horse, wild with fright, avoided the blanket. It kicked at Jim and even snapped, tearing frantically on its halter. The heat was cracking Jim’s skin, the smoke choked him, and the crazy horse made his head ache trying to follow his rapid movements. Worse than that, the halter was tied in a ring on the wall, and the cavalryman was unable to pull it loose. As he was ready to sob with anger his fingers closed over the catch and with a jerk that tore his skin he loosed the rearing horse. Like a flash the animal backed from its stall and tried to find the door.
Now Jim succeeded in getting the blanket over his head and he felt his way to the door. The first breath of fresh air that he got went through him like the stab of a sword. Stumbling at every step he led the trembling horse to a tree far away from the barn and tied him securely. The smell of burning hair jabbed his nose and he knew that the animal had been burned in more than one place.
“I’ve got to go back,” he gasped, gulping the air in huge draughts. “But I can’t, I just can’t!”
But he started back, his feet like lead and his head ready to burst. Before he reached the door of the barn, however, a blackened figure with red hair stopped him.
“They’re all out,” Terry shouted. “And I’m all in!”
Together they sank down on the rude back steps of the farmhouse, entirely played out. While they sat there the bucket brigade was in full swing.
Those cadets who had been fortunate enough to secure buckets had jumped into action without wasting a moment’s time. The vanguard found the well and began to pump vigorously. As soon as the first pail was filled it was passed from hand to hand and the last cadet, running as close to the fire as the heat would allow him to, tossed it on the blaze. By the time he had finished a second cadet had run forward with another pail full. A second contingent of cadets, impatient at waiting around the well, found a small creek back of the barn and the buckets were dipped in here. Two steady streams were now being played in splashes on the blaze.
There was no hope of saving the barn but the work went grimly forward. A mountain of sparks was ascending, threatening the house and the smaller structures near by, to say nothing of the fields and woods. It required a special corps to put out scores of small fires that jumped up in the fields and on the other buildings. But in time the splashing buckets of water kept the sparks down and although the barn burned to the ground the house and smaller buildings were saved.
It seemed to the cadets that they had been working for hours on their task. Numerous neighbors had run over from near-by farms, armed with buckets and blankets, and their assistance was a welcome help. A wheezing old hand-pump on a flat truck was finally run into the yard and the water from the creek was thrown in a more or less uncertain stream on the smoldering embers of the ruins, but had the Hydes been compelled to wait for it and for the neighbors they would have been burned out of the house and home. Clouds of hissing steam rose from the blackened wood as the water was pumped and thrown on it.
Jim and Terry had braced up sufficiently to join the bucket brigade and they passed the pails with the others. Some of the cadets had stormed in the back door of Hyde’s house and had located a few pails and pans. As for the father and his two sons they had not been of much use after the horses had been taken. Utterly bewildered by the swift events they had run from place to place, too shaken to do anything practical.
“Were all of the animals taken out?” the colonel asked the farmer. He nodded dully.
“Wasn’t nothing but horses in that barn,” he returned. “The chickens is in the run there.”
The unfortunate chickens were scorched by the heat which had been so near to them but all of them were alive. They had run around the long inclosure squawking and screeching but the damage had not touched them. Some pigs near by were safe enough, and the only thing which had suffered was the barn itself and the horses, most of whom were burned in patches. Jim, who had recovered from his experience, dispatched a man to the camp to bring soothing salve for the animals’ burns. This was done and under Jim and Thompson’s watchful eyes the scorches were tenderly glossed over to heal.
A large group had gathered around the farmer and his sons and the cadets. One of the neighbors asked how the fire had started. Hyde shrugged his shoulders.
“I dunno,” he said. “All of a sudden I waked up to see the fire and we run out in a jiffy. I didn’t see how it got afire.”
The colonel turned to Don, who was close by. “How did you happen to see this fire, Lieutenant Mercer?” he asked.
Don narrated the story of the moving flame. The neighbors shot inquiring looks at the Hydes. A dozen tongues formed the word “Maul.”
“Maul is dead,” said one of the sons. “How could he do it?”
“Don’t forget the ghost of the Ridge,” said a man, seriously. “That’s Maul’s ghost.”
The oldest son had been prowling about the ruins and now set up a cry. “Look-a-here, Pop,” he called. There was an instant rush to the rear of the barn.
In the dim light of a few lanterns they made out the charred outline of wheels and under a smoking board some whisps of straw. A murmur of comprehension went up.
“Loaded a wagon of hay and lighted her up,” shouted a farmer. “Then they rolled it down the hill at the barn.”
There was no doubt that such had been the case. And no one seemed to ask why, a fact that puzzled the colonel and the boys.
“Why should anyone do a thing like that? And who is this Maul?” the colonel asked.
None of the Hydes replied but a neighbor was willing to talk. “A few years back there was a hill feud between the Hydes and the Mauls,” he said. “One or the other of them was trying to drive the other family out. But all of the Mauls disappeared or died several years ago. This here ghost must be one of the Mauls!”
“Evidently a very real Maul, if he can load a wagon with hay and roll it down the hill,” replied the colonel dryly. “Captain Jordan!”
“Sir?” the senior captain replied.
“Take a detail of men and search the hill. If you find anyone that looks suspicious bring him here to me.”
“Very well, sir,” replied Jordan, and picked a detail of five men. They departed up the slope at once.
“You won’t find any ghost hanging around now,” grinned a toothless old man.
The colonel paid no attention to the old man and they hung around for an hour longer. It was now three o’clock, but no one thought of quitting the scene. From snatches of conversation the cadets learned more about the bitter feud that had existed for generations between the Hydes and the Mauls. The last Maul had been drowned in a near-by river.
“At least he was swept down the river in a flood,” a neighbor said. “Nobody ever saw him since.”
“Well, these foolish feuds ought to stop,” growled the colonel. “A lot of innocent people suffer because of them.”
“We’ll attend to our own affairs,” the father said, sullenly. “We don’t need any interfering.”
“If it hadn’t been for our interfering tonight you would have been without a dozen horses and your house, my friend,” returned the colonel, calmly. The Hydes muttered to themselves.
Jordan and the detail returned soon afterward to report that there was no sign of anyone on the hill. “But we found the tracks and a lot of hay up on top of the hill.”
There was now nothing to keep them there any longer and they went back to camp, tired but satisfied. There was no word of thanks from the farmer or his sons.
“Nice, grateful bunch,” grumbled Don, inspecting sore hands and a red burn on his arm.
Jim ached all over but he managed to grin. “Sure, but we should worry. We got the horses out, and that is what counted.”
The drill was going on merrily. It was four days after the fire at the Hyde place and the cadets had recovered from the effects of their strenuous experience. On the day following the fire the colonel had ordered the suspension of the daily routine and a number of burns had been treated. Weary muscles and sore lungs had been rested to good advantage and now the swing of things was once more in evidence.
All of the units were having infantry drill. Even the cavalry and infantry divisions were compelled to drill with rifles every so often, and today, under Major Rhodes, a graduate of the school and one of the regular staff, they were hard at it. The sun beat down upon them from a clear sky but by this time the cadets were well used to it. The hottest days failed to shake them in their tasks.
Suddenly the colonel appeared and called the major. There was a hurried conference and then the major went back to his position. Crisply he called: “Battalion, attention! Count off in fours!”
The count ran along the line. At a further word the guns were dropped to rest and the cadets faced the colonel. He spoke to them in a ringing voice.
“Gentlemen of the Corps, we are faced with another call to duty. A good many serious things have happened while we have been here on the Ridge, but this is the most serious of them all. The little daughter of the farmer who supplies us with food has been lost or kidnapped!”
The closely packed ranks stirred. The colonel went on: “A number of organized groups are at present looking for this child all over the Ridge. We have not been asked to help, but of course it is our duty and we will form searching parties at once. There will be no more official duties until the child has been found or until some definite word has been received as to her whereabouts. I trust you will dutifully prosecute the search until every inch of the Ridge and the surrounding country has been scoured.”
The colonel saluted the major and turned away.
There was a total silence in the corps but eyes flashed with excitement.
“Companies dismissed,” ordered Major Rhodes.
The cadets broke ranks and stacked arms. From then on things moved fast. In groups the young soldiers formed for the search. It was decided that they would remain away from camp for the night if necessary, and knapsacks were hastily packed. While Don, Jim and Terry were preparing, Vench and Douglas hurried to their tent.
“Suppose we five form a bunch of our own,” Douglas suggested.
“Sure,” responded Don. “I think our best move would be to go to the Carson house and find out where the little girl was last seen. Then we can map out our campaign from that point.”
This was agreed to and the cadets hurried off down the road. It was just noontime and they wanted to get in every bit of work they could while the daylight remained.
“That was the cute little girl we were playing with the day we had the pie,” observed Vench, as they hurried along. “I certainly hope nothing has happened to her.”
“I hope not,” agreed Don. “It’s possible that she just wandered off somewhere. Wonder who told the colonel about it?”
“Little Jimmie Carson,” said Jim promptly. “I saw him come into camp just as we were leaving for drill.”
It did not take them long to reach the Carson house, which they found to be thronged with visitors. Men from the neighboring houses had come to do their bit by searching and the strong Ridge women had come to console the heartbroken mother. Mrs. Carson was delighted to see the boys.
“Oh, you have come to help look for Dorothy?” she cried, seizing Don’s hands.
“Our colonel has ordered the whole cadet corps to keep searching until we find the little one,” Don smiled. “We have divided up in bands to scour the country.”
“How very kind of your colonel—and of you!” cried the frightened woman. “With so many looking for the child I don’t see why she shouldn’t be found.”
“Unless she’s past finding!” croaked an old lady with a sad air and mournful eyes.
“She isn’t past finding,” snapped Jim, impatiently. “I haven’t any doubt that we’ll locate her. Now, Mrs. Carson, where was she last seen?”
“She went out last night about nine o’clock to bring in a rag doll that she had left out under the grape arbor,” replied the farmer’s wife. “I held the door open for her, so that she would surely find her way in, but she didn’t, poor little soul. Oh, I’m so sorry that I ever let her go out. We searched the yard immediately, but we couldn’t find a trace of her, and she didn’t answer our calls.”
“Thank you,” said Don gently. “Then she disappeared from her own back yard?”
“Yes,” nodded Mrs. Carson, wiping her eyes.
At that moment the county sheriff, a tall and disagreeable-looking man named Blount, swaggered into the room. It was evident that he regarded himself as the most important person there and as his eyes fell on the cadets his brow darkened.
“Humph!” he grunted. “So those soldier kids are looking too, eh? Well, they won’t find anything.”
Terry looked at the sheriff’s shoes, and then allowed his eyes to travel slowly up the entire length of his body until he had seen all of him. The sheriff reddened and then blustered.
“Well, what’s the matter with you?” he cried.
“Nothing,” returned Terry, mildly. “I’ve never really seen an important man before and I wanted to get a good look now that I am close to one!”
“Say, I’ll run you kids—” began the angry sheriff, as a slight snicker went up. But Don cut him short.
“Come on, you fellows,” he called. “We have work to do. No use standing around wasting breath on useless subjects.”
“Nice kindly old soul, that sheriff,” growled Vench, when the cadets were again outside.
“He isn’t worth thinking about,” said Don. “Now, boys, let’s get on the job.”
Their first job was to look under the grape arbor, but scores of feet had churned up the ground so that nothing could be learned from it. They left the yard and struck off into the woods.
“Too bad we couldn’t find a clue under the arbor,” grumbled Terry.
“I doubt if there were any clues,” advanced Jim. “Some of the men would have seen them in the first place. After all, we aren’t detectives, and our job is to beat up the Ridge much in the manner of going over it with a fine-tooth comb.”
“That is true,” nodded Vench. “Suppose we don’t run across her tonight? Are you going back to camp?”
“No,” decided Don. “We’d only lose time. We’ll stay here and get a fresh start early in the morning. The colonel wants us to stay right on the job until some trace of her is found.”
“How are we to know if she is found?” Douglas asked.
“A cannon will be fired three times,” replied Terry. “That’s the signal for recall.”
Throughout the entire afternoon and early evening the cadets tramped over the Ridge, going to parts of the rolling hills that they had never seen before. There was no sign of the little one, although they kept their eyes wide open, and it was quite late before they struck camp for the night. They made a fire and spread out their blankets and provisions.
While they ate darkness descended over the Ridge. The meal was a good one and the tired cadets ate heartily. Afterward they discussed the wisdom of keeping watch.
“Not that anyone will come along and gobble us up,” said Terry, “but if that child should call out in the night we’d miss her if we were all asleep.”
“That’s true,” Jim said. “And, anyway, I think we ought to have a fire going all night. We’ll want one in the morning. That ghost is some human being bent on mischief and we must keep our eyes open for him. I’m sure he’s mixed up in this thing, somehow.”
This was agreed to and the boys figured out watches for themselves. During the evening, before they went to sleep, they sat around on their blankets and talked quietly, listening for any call or unusual sound. None came and at nine o’clock they decided to turn in.
Throughout the night the separate watches were faithfully kept and the cadet who sat watch listened to the night sounds. But when the morning finally came and they rolled out at daybreak, not one of them had heard a single sound that would lead them to hope.
“We’ll have to put in a good hard day,” Don said, as they ate the last of their sandwiches.
Terry scrambled to his feet. “I’m going down to the brook and fill my canteen,” he announced. “I don’t know where there is a spring around and that brook looks perfectly all right.”
“Maybe you had better boil the water and make sure before you drink it,” Vench suggested.
Terry went back into the bushes some fifty feet until he found a gurgling little brook. The water looked cool and refreshing as it bubbled around the stones, and the redhead bent down to fill his canteen. It was then that a sound reached him, a sound that caused him to straighten up.
“Now, did the brook make that sound?” he wondered.